Pale Memories and Dreams
by Winged One
Summary: Who can redeem you if no one is strong enough to hold you up? A short DG story with very little hints at actual romance. This is a much shorter story than I originally intended. It may turn into a longer story based on this one. HBP spoilers and such.


Disclaimer: Yeah. They all belong to our dearest Miss Rowling, not me. I only abuse them.

Summary: "I like it that you think I'm innocent," she said softly.

Author's Note: Hm. First HP fanfic, be gentle, yeah? This came to me after reading so many amazing D/G fics that somehow never mentioned Ginny's first year. Bizarre, to me. Anyway, this takes place in the fifth book, the War (I am a firm believer in Draco redemption) and some time after. HBP spoilers, all that rot.

* * *

"Oh, bloody hell." 

"But why don't you tell us how you really feel?"

Draco Malfoy could not believe this. Detention was bad enough, not to mention inherently bizarre—Umbridge just _loved_ him and many of the professors were unwilling to inconvenience her favorite students with something so trivial as detentions. _The way that woman clears her throat should have been classified as an Unforgivable,_ he thought.

But detention with a Gryffindor? Horror of horrors, it was. He was tired, he wanted to go to bed, and now he was expected to sit quiet and not taunt a bloody Gryffindor when the advisor over the bloody detention bloody wasn't looking?

_Bit early in the night for three bloodies, mate,_ Draco's mind drawled lazily. _Haven't gotten past detention with a Gryffindor yet._

Fine—perhaps detention with a Gryffindor, while nowhere near stomachable, was at least something he'd live through. And it wasn't like the insufferable Mudblood were sitting beside him, or bloody Potter. It wasn't even the hotheaded and loutish Weasel.

No, it was the other Weasel. Weaslette? Weaslette. It was the loud-laughing redheaded pitiful excuse for a girl, Ginny Weasley. Why had he gotten stuck with a Gryffindor he didn't even properly know how to hate? He could always play it safe and insult her family, but he was worried the routine was losing its edge. Oh, it would always work on Weasel the Elder, but this one? He didn't even know if she was as inflammatory as her bloody brother.

Hmm. There was that Potter thing, though. Had she gotten over that?

"I don't believe it," Draco wondered aloud. "What could the innocent little Weaslette have done to deserve a detention? Threw Potter a love potion, did you?"

Ginny Weasley said nothing; in fact, she did not even look at Draco. She was sitting right next to him in the Transfiguration classroom, waiting for Professor McGonagall to finish a professor's meeting and hand them their list of chores for the evening. She'd snapped at him when first coming in but had shown no emotion since then; her pale face looked almost sickly and her freckles stood out darkly in contrast.

Draco was puzzled. People didn't…People simply did not ignore a Malfoy. Wasn't the thing to do, all that rot. "Weaslette, are you even listening properly? If I wasn't so classy, I'd be rather insulted—"

"I heard what you said," she said quietly, casting him a sideways glance. She tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear and smiled at him. It was all Draco could do not to gape. Weaslette, Ginny bloody Weasley, was _smiling_ at him, Draco bloody Malfoy. The universe was officially due to implode upon itself any moment now. Draco was so astonished that he didn't even notice the sad softness of it, the weariness in her eyes even as they lit up slightly. "I like it that you think I'm innocent," she said softly.

"I—what?" Draco began—was this Confuse the Hell Out of Draco Day?—but that was when McGonagall chose to stride in.

"Miss Weasley, Mister Malfoy, I am very busy tonight," she started as she sat down behind her desk. "And I have no time in which to be busy. Therefore, I would appreciate it if the both of you would sit here quietly and not move. You may think about what you've done to land you here instead of your Common Rooms doing your homework and enjoying your free time. I will dismiss you in exactly one hour. Any questions?" The tone in which she said all this made it patently clear that if either of them asked a question a head would be bitten off, and Draco was willing to bet it would be his, seeing as Weaslette was in her House and all.

And to Draco's utter chagrin, Ginny raised her hand. "_Yes_, Miss Weasley?"

"Please, Professor, are you sure I couldn't help you do…something?" she asked timidly.

McGonagall's expression of irritation softened into concern. Draco rather thought his head was starting to hurt: McGonagall's favoritism towards her House had never been so pronounced as, say, Snape's. But so far, no heads were being bitten off. "Come to think of it, Miss Weasley, I have a stack of examinations I have been meaning to get to. I've the appropriate answer key with them. It's first-year stuff, you should get through it quickly."

The young Weasley slipped gracefully from her seat to McGonagall's desk, where the Gryffindor Head of House had produced a large stack of papers. Ginny walked back to her seat with test papers, answer key, and grading quill in hand while McGonagall pulled out long rolls of parchment and seemed ready to fire off a few letters.

"Mister Malfoy? May I assume that you are content in your punishment?"

Startled, Draco mentally cursed himself. Why did every question and statement directed at him today catch him off guard? "Er, I'm…fine, Professor?"

McGonagall nodded gruffly and turned to her parchment. Bored from the moment he'd walked in, Draco focused on Ginny Weasley. She at least was brightly colored, and he even brought himself to admit that her little mannerisms were vaguely amusing. The same stray piece of hair she'd tucked behind her ear to smile at him kept escaping, and she didn't even notice as she pushed it back. She worked with her mouth partly open, her tongue caught weirdly between her teeth. She never once looked up from the stack of first-years' tests. Obviously, first-year Transfiguration was something even the Weaslette had managed to master. He also found himself wondering if her skin was always so pale you could see the veins beneath her skin, or if she was just exhausted, and then he began to worry for his own state of mind.

Precisely one hour after striding into the room, Professor McGonagall looked up at the two students before her. "Miss Weasley, Mister Malfoy, you are free to go. Try not to get yourselves into trouble again. Miss Weasley, just leave those papers here—thank you."

Draco was already walking away when he heard McGonagall say, "And Ginny? Try to sleep tonight, love." He could practically hear the Weaslette's eyes widen, the brush of her hair against her robes as she nodded and turned away.

Unable to stand being left in the dark much longer, Draco waited for Ginny as she left the classroom, then started, "Hey, Weaslette—"

Ginny turned to face him, pushing the same piece of hair behind her ear once more. Her eyes were huge and tired. "Malfoy, I've had a long, trying day—" Month. Year. Years. Life. "And I fully intend to go up to Gryffindor Tower and collapse on my bed until either I die or sleep."

Draco looked at her. She had not brought her bag down with her, probably knowing that McGonagall did not allow students to do homework during their detentions. "Did you get any homework done?" He asked, somehow managing to make even an innocent question curl with a sneer.

Ginny's shoulders sagged visibly. "No," she whispered. She closed her eyes and shuddered. "But I've been awake too long. I should…I should sleep. And I don't mean to be rude, Malfoy, but goodnight." With that, she turned and swept wearily away from him. Draco watched her go, confused. He didn't associate Weasleys with cryptic messages, but apparently the Girl Weasel spoke in tongues on a regular basis. _She wasn't shuddering because her homework wasn't done,_ he wondered absently as he made his way back to the dungeons. _Oh, bloody hell, I'm spending my own time thinking about the Weaslette. Bloody, bloody, bloody hell!_

_Four,_ another part of his mind chimed in. _Probably the right time for four bloodies anyway._

Draco never got a chance to question Ginny Weasley on her bizarre behavior that night. Later that year, she hit him with an astonishing Bat Bogey Hex, and when he saw her for the first time as he was starting Sixth Year, he simply did not have the time to care.

* * *

Draco had sworn to a good number of things throughout his life. He had sworn to be King of Hogwarts while making Harry Potter's life miserable. He had sworn to serve the Dark Lord in any way he could, and, running away from that, he had sworn to help the Order bring down Voldemort, if not be a civil human being while doing so. Once he had even sworn that _he_ had killed Professor Dumbledore with an unflinching Avada Kedavra to protect the name of the only man he'd ever known how to respect. Snape did not react as well to that as Draco had hoped. 

And right now, as one of the various Weasley brothers was levitating him to the hospital wing in Hogwarts set up for the casualties of battle, he swore that if some stray infection from his injured leg did not kill him, he would kill himself, because bugger it if it didn't hurt.

"Gin!" cried the Weasley as he pushed open the door to the infirmary. "I've got Malfoy here!"

Someone had obviously sent a message ahead. Ginny Weasley stood beside the table they used for the messy healing, and a bed had already been made up and marked with Draco's name. Ginny was absently twisting a roll of bandages in her hand and gestured for her brother Charlie to deposit Draco on the table. "Hurry, hurry," she murmured. Once Draco was set, Charlie turned and disappeared.

"Oh, my," Ginny said as she set about examining Draco's leg. "I didn't think they meant it was this bad."

"It's not," Draco said immediately.

Ginny arched a fine eyebrow at him and set her hand down experimentally on his leg. Draco howled in pain while Ginny nodded to herself. "It is," she said, selecting several small bottles of potion from the cart beside her. "You're lucky you still have a leg, Malfoy."

"Thanks for that, Weaslette," he hissed through gritted teeth.

They didn't speak for another few minutes as Ginny attended to his leg. A particularly nasty curse had caught him and shattered the bone in dozens of places, burning the skin nearly to charcoal all the while. After a few moments, Ginny gasped a little. "This is the curse they told me about."  
"Who? What?" Draco asked, trying to lift his upper body to look down at his leg. Ginny pushed him back down impatiently.

"The new curse the Death Eaters have been bandying about recently," Ginny explained. "Professor Snape was explaining it to me after—after—"

"They hit McGonagall with it," Draco finished gently. _Try to sleep tonight, love._

Ginny nodded, sniffing a little. "Yes, that," she said quickly, trying to mask her tears. "Well, Malfoy, I have to say, you're bloody lucky to be alive. How did it only hit your leg?"

Malfoy made a noncommittal noise, to which Ginny smiled warmly, tapping his leg as lightly as she could with her wand. "Who saved you, then?"

"One of those brothers of yours," he said. "The one who brought me in. You know, the big one."

Ginny paused, giving Draco an amused look. "The big one, Malfoy? They're all pretty big, except maybe for Percy. But Charlie, yes. He wrestles dragons, you know."

"I'm fairly sure that is not the actual job description."

Ginny's eyes crinkled into a smile that faded altogether too quickly. "They said Voldemort hit you," she said casually, fussing busily over his leg.

Draco wondered for a moment why she didn't have any problems saying the name. He nodded faintly, adding, "I suppose I ought to thank bloody Potter too, he tackled Voldemort from the side as I stood there, expecting to die."

"Sounds well enough like Harry," Ginny mused. "Not well enough like you."

"Feh," Draco muttered. "How'd you guess, anyway?"

Ginny pointed her wand knowingly at Draco's left arm. "Your arm is bleeding, Malfoy."

"Oh, bloody hell."

"It's not that bad," Ginny said, holding up the roll of bandages she'd been rolling before. Another few moments passed where they both were quiet, and then Ginny asked, "Did he look you in the eyes?"

"What?"

Ginny met Draco's eyes. "Did he look you in the eyes? While he—he tried to kill you?"

Draco paused, unruffled by the question now that he was sure he'd heard it clearly. "Yes," he said.

Ginny made a sympathetic noise. "Tom used to make me look him in the eyes."

Draco was unsure if Ginny was even talking to him anymore. "Tom? Tom who?" Ginny flicked her eyes towards him again, as if shocked that he didn't know. "There are a lot of Toms out there, I should think."

Ginny closed her eyes and shuddered, hands pausing as they wrapped bandaging around his leg. When she opened her eyes, she turned her head to look out the narrow window nearby. "Yes, there are, aren't there?"

Draco craned his neck to look at her. She was pale, he realized, her veins clear under milky skin. Dark circles were smudged underneath her eyes and she'd probably done quite a lot of crying recently. And was she scared? "Weaslette, did I—"

She smiled brightly at him, the translucent paleness suddenly gone as she stepped around the table and into a shaft of sunlight. "You didn't do anything, Malfoy. Now, lie still, I'm going to levitate over to your bed."

"What? You're done?"

She laughed a bit. "Not nearly, I still have some draughts to give you, for the pain, and a sleeping potion. But I want you to be settled." She flicked her wand and Draco found himself settled in one of the thin, lumpy beds of the infirmary. "I'm sorry the beds are so uncomfortable," she called over her shoulder as she went to clear up the table and find him the draughts she'd promised.

"Not at all," he mumbled in assurance. The shaft of sunlight that had lit up Ginny's face before flooded over him and his bed, and he found it pleasantly warm. After a few minutes, Ginny returned, bearing several bottles of potion. In the sunlight, she was vibrant, despite the dark circles under her eyes. Her hair shone, practically gold, and her eyes glittered.

"Here you go, do enjoy these," she said with a smile. She waited patiently beside him while he downed the bitter potions. Taking the bottles from him when he was done, she rose to file them away, but paused halfway up. "Malfoy, may I ask a question?"

Draco nodded.

Ginny nodded to herself, noting that reaction, and sank back down into the chair beside him, automatically crossing one leg over the knee. "Malfoy, why…why did you leave the Death Eaters? Come to the Order?"

"Oh," Draco said with a frown, then shrugged as eloquently as he possibly could, given his position.

"You don't have to tell me," Ginny said hurriedly. "You don't have to tell me the truth. I was just…curious, how you escaped the darkness."

"Hum, well," Draco began, feeling the very beginnings of the numbing draught on his leg and the sleeping draught on his brain. "It's—it's not something all heroic, nothing like what Potter would have to say."

"I'm not asking about Harry," Ginny said quietly.

"Bloody hell, I've never told this to anyone," Draco said, about to finish that with 'So why would I tell _you?_' Something in Ginny's eyes, something desperate beyond the glittering, made him swallow the sneering barb and find the answer. "When I was little, I was afraid of the dark. And when I'd cry, my father would hit me. That…that just didn't seem right to me. Do you see what I'm saying?" Ginny nodded. "It wasn't befitting a Malfoy—not that it wasn't befitting of me, but any Malfoy—to be scared of the dark." He lapsed into stony silence, contemplating the choices he had made. The right choices. Probably.

Ginny looked at him for a moment more. "I think it's heroic enough," she whispered, then stood up to shelve the potions. Draco watched her until she disappeared into a back room, calling for Luna all the while. Ginny appeared from the back room a few minutes later with Luna Lovegood trailing behind her. Ginny had changed out of her blood-smattered nurse's robes and was handing Luna a set of keys. "I won't be back for another few days, Luna," Ginny was saying. "It's been—it's been how long since I slept last?"

"Three days, I should think," Luna said airily.

"Yes, that's…that's not good," Ginny replied, rubbing a hand over her eyes. "Gods, Luna, I can hardly see straight. And it's getting so loud in here. I'll—I'll see you in a day or so. Take particularly good care of Malfoy, right? His leg got blown nearly off."

Luna nodded and flashed a brilliant smile at Draco before turning to check on the other patients. Ginny hesitated by the fireplace, then walked back over to where Draco was very slowly slipping into sleep. She pressed a kiss to his forehead and whispered to him, "You have every right to be scared of the dark, Draco." With that, she turned to the fireplace and Flooed away before he could quite think.

As Draco began to sleep, he wondered how Ginny could have thought it loud in the hospital wing. The two of them had been the only ones making any noise, and they'd only been talking. What else had Ginny heard while tending to a Malfoy's shattered leg?

He only remembered Tom—diary, basilisk, ghost, diary—when he woke up again, but he was gone before Ginny came back, and he could not ask her.

* * *

_If there is a God, He is laughing at me right now,_ Draco thought bitterly. _Oh, how the bastard is laughing._

_Shut it,_ another part of his mind interrupted. _Chin up, Malfoy, and have some pride. Like hell are you going to cry._

But the tears came anyway, and Draco was no longer sure if he even cared. His entire body shook as the tears traced stinging trails down his numb cheeks, but he kept his mouth shut so the sobs would not escape. The snow-covered field around him was splattered with blood. Some of it was his, some of it wasn't. He didn't care. He wasn't thinking about himself, kneeling bloody in the snow.

_Pansy_, he thought frantically in his mind. _I killed Pansy. Oh Merlin, why did she have to look at me when she died?_ The growing sob in his chest threatened to choke him and he spilled it out, letting out a keening moan. "T-t-traitor," he stammered, voice shaking from the cold and tears and heartache. Pansy's last words to him. _You filthy, Muggle-loving, bloody _traitor! "I know, P-pansy," he sobbed. "I kn-know! I'm s-s-sorry."

His old mates had been dying in battles since even before Draco made the switch to the Order, clutching Snape's robes like an infant. Goyle—had it been Crabbe?—had gone first, and they'd toasted his death that very night in Malfoy Manor, the group that would never graduate from Hogwarts, the last Slytherins in a world that would be made of all Slytherins. Or so they'd thought—_Could we have thought anything else?_ Draco wondered.

But today was different. He couldn't keep the faces out of his mind, the faces of people he had known and needed and maybe even loved. He—his father—his mother—Bellatrix—gods, Pansy—Blaise, Nott—

"Malfoy?"

"G'way!" he snarled without looking up. What now? Someone coming to tell him that everyone lost someone in war, that no one escaped unscathed, whether they had scars on their skin or not?

"Malfoy, please get up."

"I said go away!"

"Malfoy, get up this instant!"

Here the thin string holding Draco's shattered pieces together snapped and he whipped around, still crouched close to the snow, to glare at the person before him. Ginny Weasley seemed utterly unimpressed by his display, standing before him, arms crossed tightly to keep out the cold. Draco said nothing to her, turning away and allowing a shudder to pass through him.

"Malfoy—" Ginny began wearily, but then took a brief look around. Her eyes widened as she recognized Pansy Parkinson, Blaise Zabini, Bellatrix Lestrange and Lucius Malfoy. The elder Malfoy had been attacked with a particularly vicious spell that had left him nearly unrecognizable, but for the long white-blond hair that was spread bloody against the snow. "_Oh,_" she breathed. In an instant she was beside him, balancing herself on her toes, wrapping her arms around Draco. "Oh, Draco, I'm sorry, I didn't—"

"You didn't do anything," he whispered hoarsely. They stayed like that for a long quiet moment, Draco hunched over and on his knees; Ginny awkwardly balancing herself and holding Draco. Then Draco slid his own arms around Ginny and pulled her down to her knees, burying his face against her chest. Ginny stiffened at the unexpected movement, but relaxed quickly and put one hand behind Draco's head, the other rubbing his back softly. She could feel him sobbing against her, curling his fingers into the back of her cloak. She pressed a soft kiss to the top of his head and waited.

Draco's sobs subsided not long after, though the tears still rolled down his face as he pulled back to look at her. "Draco—"

"Don't," he pleaded. "Don't say it."

"I—what?" Ginny looked bewildered.

"Don't tell me it'll be all right, don't."

"Oh," Ginny said. She stopped the motions of her hand against his back and brought it to his cheek instead. "Oh, Draco, I wouldn't. It's not." Draco narrowed his eyes and made a skeptical noise. Ginny's hands dropped from his cheeks as she grew confused. "What?"

"I just find it hard to believe that the littlest Weasley apparently does not believe in flowers and sunshine." Draco sneered. It was awful, he knew, to be sneering at her and making fun of her when they'd won the war but were still crouched in a field full of bloody bodies, but something about his own bitter tone allowed him to ignore the aches in his mind and heart. Ginny's eyes widened and she pulled away from him, her gaze sliding down to the snow.

"It's been a very long time since I've believed in flowers and sunshine," she said quietly, sadly. "I don't remember the last time I thought flowers or sunshine could make the world better."

"You mean to tell me that you haven't gone through every single day of this war believing that as long as the sun rose, it meant you'd won another day?" Draco scoffed.

"Did you _ever_ believe in flowers and sunshine?" Ginny snapped, looking at him briefly with irritated eyes.

"Why did _you_ ever stop? Last I heard Potter was still single and all your ruddy brothers made it through the war, so what's to worry about?"

Ginny did not respond, looking instead to the battlefield spread all around them. Draco watched her lower lip quiver for a moment before he realized she was refusing to cry and suddenly, all the aches of his mind and heart returned. A Weasley brother lay dead somewhere nearby, and he was taunting Ginny.

"I—I didn't mean to say—" Draco began, but Ginny shook her head, meeting his eyes with a cool, heavily lidded gaze.

"Malfoy, your mother's awake," she said. Draco's eyes widened and he found himself without anything to say. Ginny stood gracefully up and extended a gloved hand towards Draco. "She was asking to see you."

Dazed, Draco grasped Ginny's hand and stood slowly up. "I thought she'd died," he said. "She's awake?" Ginny nodded with a small shrug. "I've got to see her!" Draco took off at a run, mind reeling. _That means—that means she didn't die because of me! And she wanted to see me—she wasn't trying to get to Lucius today, she wanted to see me before she was hit BLOODY HELL?_

Draco heard Ginny shouting the Full Body Bind at him, but didn't register until his entire body went rigid. "Are you daft, Malfoy?" Ginny snapped, catching up to him. "You're bleeding all over and I swear important parts of you are going to fall out of your stomach any minute now. You're in no shape to run. You're probably in no shape to breathe, but don't tell your lungs that and I suppose I'll let you walk. I'm going to unbind you, and then I know a spell to staunch the bleeding. It's not a great spell, and I don't have any real bandages with me, so if you start again I swear I will bat-bogey hex you into oblivion, or so help me Merlin, understood?" She reversed the spell and Draco groaned, feeling sharp pains shooting through his back.

"Merlin, Weaslette, you could have just yelled!" he growled as Ginny knelt down beside , bending her head over his torso to examine the worst of the damage. She pushed a stray lock of hair behind her hair and Draco noticed suddenly that she had deep circles underneath her eyes. She said the spell over him quickly and helped him to stand, and Draco's mind immediately raced back to his mother. "She's awake?"

Ginny gave him a withering look as they began to slowly make their way towards the castle. "She was when I left, but if you'd like I'll go up and see, shall I?"

"Long day, eh, Weaslette?" Draco replied without any humor.

Ginny sighed. "Longer than most," she said. "But I think it's nearly over."

As they neared the infirmary, Ginny took a stern tone with Draco. "We'll go in quietly, all right? I will not have you barging in on a room full of injured people who need their rest."

"Has anyone ever told you how dangerously close to Madam Pomfrey you sound?"

"I fed the last person who said that to me Puking Pastilles," Ginny replied, deadpan, but she cracked a grin at Draco's look of horror. "Oh, do grow up, Malfoy." She swept into the infirmary with Draco hobbling behind her. "Nar—Narcissa?"

Narcissa Malfoy lay on one of the many thin beds, swathed in bandages. She smiled to hear Ginny; the girl was obviously hesitant in calling the Lady Malfoy by her first name, but Narcissa had not answered to Mrs. Malfoy.

"Mother?"

Narcissa looked past Ginny to see Draco standing at the foot of her bed. Ginny smiled and moved away, leaving Draco relatively alone with his mother. He hurried to her side, kneeling beside her. "Thank all the gods, Draco, you're alive!" Narcissa reached her hand out to touch Draco's cheek. "I didn't know if you'd—made it—Bellatrix—"

"It's hard that I did, Mama," Draco said, very softly. He took the hand from his cheek and held it with both of his own. "And I thought…until I came up here…I thought you'd died today too."

Narcissa smiled sadly. "It took me too long to realize where I belonged," she said. "I was not about to die today."

Draco smirked suddenly. "Somehow, Mama, I doubt Aunt Bellatrix would have thought of it that way."

"She was going to kill you," Narcissa said quietly. "And that was the end of it. My own sister about to kill my son."

"Only after I killed Lucius," Draco murmured.

"He would have killed you first," she said, squeezing her eyes shut. "I'm only upset that you got to him before I could have. His own son."

"I betrayed him two years ago, Mama," Draco said. "I don't think the man had a son anymore."

"I'm sorry about Pansy," Narcissa said, opening her eyes to search Draco's face. "I didn't think it would end that way for her."

"I wonder if she thought so, either," Draco said bitterly. He sighed and moved to kiss his mother on the cheek. "But we're here, we're alive. That's…that's what's important…right?"

There was a commotion from across the room, and both Draco and Narcissa turned to look. Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger had burst into the infirmary, where Ginny, protesting all the while, was swept up into an enormous hug. She was still scolding them over their lack of respect for her patients when they let her go, but she was smiling and embraced each of them in turn. Narcissa and Draco watched as Ginny fretted over each of their injuries: the bruises all over Harry's face, the scar; the burns all over Ron's arms and visible chest; the soft white bandages covering Hermione's blinded eye. And then Ron shoved the other two out the way and he and Ginny clutched each other tightly for a moment, hardly breathing and not speaking. The Malfoys heard Ginny ask the others quietly about the state of Fred before they turned away, leaving the Golden Trio and Weaslette to their own affairs.

Draco shook his head, looking vaguely amazed. "We don't belong here," he muttered.

"Hmm, no," Narcissa agreed. "We are quite more refined than that lot." They looked back over at Ginny and the others, where they, having had their moment of silence for the fallen Weasley brother, were soldiering on. Ron Weasley was now threatening to rearrange Harry's face if Mr. Potter did not take back whatever he had said about Mr. Weasley's younger sister's hands feeling rather nice. Ginny was laughing and Hermione was resigned to it all, smiling and shaking her head. "And, that, I suppose," Narcissa continued. "Is why they're over there having a chuckle at being alive and we're wondering whether we're better off that way."

"Mother," Draco said, voice full of exaggerated shock. "Are you making fun of me?"

"I do believe I am."

"How rude." Draco sniffed. "Mama, where do we go from here?"

"You're young, Draco. When we've cleaned out the Manor of Lucius' dreadful things, you'll get a job, a girlfriend."

Draco shook his head. "How can you say we'll just be normal? We were the Royal Family of Slytherin. The great pureblooded Malfoys. The wizarding world must hate us, even if I've been helping the ruddy Order for two years, and you never even killed anyone."

"With any luck, the last threads of the Black family will not turn me away," Narcissa said. "Andy—that's your Aunt Andromeda, love, you never really did see her much—has that Metamorphagus daughter, Nymphadora. I'm sure I'll be able to at least make some family ties. And you, well, you're young. Your generation will be much quicker to make amends, I think. You're all anxious to move on and get started on what you've missed. You'll not be wanting for friendship, I'm sure."

Draco's gaze flicked to the people behind them. "They hate me."

Narcissa smiled. "I don't think so."

"I hate them."

"And that, darling, is because you are a ruddy loon."

"You always do know just the right things to say, Mama," Draco sighed, rolling his eyes.

"Sorry, hate to interrupt…"

Draco looked. Ginny was standing at the foot of the bed; the Golden Trio was slinking out the door. Ginny was carrying several bottles of oddly colored potions. "Narcissa, you ought to rest. Most of these potions are for healing, and this potion, in the particularly interesting shade of blue, is to help you sleep. The healing will go a lot quicker if you're asleep, anyway." She looked at Draco. "I do really hate to kick you out, Malfoy, but your mother does need her rest. And Malfoy, go right down to the Great Hall, all right? They've set up another infirmary down there for cases not quite as, er, serious as your mother's. I should've sent you down there right away—Lupin'll have my head for this, he's quite strict about people getting healed—but…well. There's a potion in here for you, Malfoy, it's a sort of amber color. That should dull the pain for you, you look like a walking corpse. Take a swallow and bring the rest downstairs, I think they could use some more. Come up after supper tonight, I suppose. Narcissa, I think you'll be awake by then." Ginny paused, surveying the bottles in her arms. "Bugger, forgot one. Malfoy, just put these all on the bedside table—thank you." Free of the bottles, Ginny stood up, muttering to herself about the bizarre organizational skills of Madam Pomfrey, and disappeared into the back room.

Draco smiled at his mother. "I'll be back up after supper, then." He kissed Narcissa's cheek. "Rest well, Mama." Narcissa nodded, eyes already closed again. Draco stood, glancing again at his mother as if to make sure she was really alive, and quietly slipped out of the infirmary.

* * *

"Oh, bloody hell." 

Draco stopped walking abruptly. He patted his pockets and scowled. _Left the bloody potion upstairs. Wonderful._ Sighing, Draco turned around and stalked back to the infirmary. Walking through the long, quiet halls, Draco wondered what it would be like to be friends with Potter and his friends. They'd laugh a lot, he supposed. Probably would buy each other scarves for Christmas. _Not that it matters, on the whole,_ he reflected. _They have to trust me now, but I don't think they have to like me. I don't like them. It works out. Bloody Potter and his hero complex. Stupid Weasley, the loudmouthed idiot. Ah, and Granger, the know-it-all. She must get grating. Sodding Weaslette—_

_Lost a brother._

Draco mulled that over moodily. Odd, how it wasn't Weasley and Weaslette both who'd lost a brother today. It was Ginny who he wondered about; Ginny who he startlingly found himself concerned for. _Oh, and I was bloody awful to her today. Well done._

Upon reaching the infirmary, Draco gingerly pushed open the door, trying to be as quiet as possible. He rather hoped he wouldn't see Ginny—she'd rolled her eyes, shake her head at him, hand him the potion, and shoo him out.

Or…

Draco stood in the doorway for a long moment, unsure of what to do. By the window in the far corner, Ginny stood, facing the afternoon sun, crying. Her hand was over her mouth, and she'd wrapped the other as tight around herself as she could. From across the room, he could see her shaking.

He walked over as softly as he could. He noticed his mother was already asleep again, and no one else seemed to be around, or at least awake, in the infirmary. "Ginny?" he hazarded quietly.

She turned to look at him, slower than he'd expected. She'd probably heard him come in. He'd been right—she was shaking terribly, biting her lip and taking quick, gasping breaths to quiet her sobs. "Wh-what d-d'you want, M-malfoy?" she stuttered.

Draco paused. He wanted to find his bloody potion and to stop feeling like his extremities were about to fall off. He wanted to go down the Great Hall and sleep until supper or possibly until next week. He wanted Pansy to not be dead. He wanted to kill his father again, see how he liked it.

"I want to know how I can make it better," he said, taking her arm gently in his hand and reaching out to push a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

Not moving away from him, she met his eyes with an acidic glare. "Can't you just suggest flowers and sunshine?" To her surprise, Draco bit his lip and flinched.

"I shouldn't have said that to you," he said.

She extricated herself from his hands and moved away, shrugging. "It doesn't matter," she said.

"Is it your brother?" Draco asked.

Ginny sighed and wiped her eyes with the palms of her hands, turning to face the afternoon sun in the windows. "Is it horrible if I say no?" she whispered.

Draco moved over closer to her. "No."

"It—it is my brother," she said, shaking her head. "That's part of it. It's just…it's so hard to believe George is gone. But—that's not it. He's still here…oh God, he's still here…"

"What? Who? Your brother?"

Ginny shook her head violently. "Tom," she sobbed. "Tom. He's still in my head. He's…still here…"

"But—but Harry defeated Voldemort," Draco began, confused. "Shouldn't he be gon—"

"I _know!_" Ginny insisted. A minute or two passed where she couldn't speak for the tears. "But he's still here…He's talking to me, he's saying…_horrible_ things…"

"What?" Draco asked. "What is he saying?"

Ginny moaned softly. "He's reminding me of the people I killed."

"You're a healer though. You didn't kill anyone in the war!"

Ginny looked away. "There the people I couldn't save," she whispered. "I didn't try hard enough to save them."

"Some people weren't meant to live forever."

She shook her head and continued on like she hadn't heard him. "He—when he took me the first time—" _Possessed me, raped me, had me, took me. _"It was because I was weak. And he nearly killed all those people, and…and Harry, because I was _weak!_ So I vowed I would be stronger, but…gods…I can stay strong, but when I don't get enough sleep, or I'm hurt he'll come back. He's always back. And he's laughing because I'm weak, because…because he has me again."

"Ginny, is he real?" Draco asked softly, ducking his head a bit to meet her eyes. "I—I know this sounds awful, but if Harry defeated, isn't it possible he's just only in your head?"

"He's just only in my head," Ginny repeated. "But I'm not starkers, Malfoy. He's real."

"He's real?"

Ginny met his eyes with the narrow, vengeful gaze Draco realized he had come to dread from her. "Draco Malfoy, you have been a Death Eater and you have killed and you have served Voldemort himself but you know _nothing_ about evil," she hissed. "He was real in the diary and he is still real."

Draco was taken aback by the vehemence in her voice. He wasn't sure he believed that the voice in her head was still the ghost of Tom Riddle and not just her leftover anxieties from her ordeal. But he hated seeing her like this. "Why do you believe him, when he tells you these things?"

Ginny closed her eyes. "Because I _am_ weak." It sounded as though she had answered the question before.

Draco snorted.

Ginny snapped her head up to look at him. "Tell I'm wrong then," she snarled. "Go ahead. Try and make it better."

"I won't," Draco said. "You knew not to make it better for me on the field."

Ginny stared at him with smoldering eyes.

"But I will tell you this," Draco continued. "Almost everyone in the entire bloody world has give up on me. Snape didn't—he brought me to the Order no matter where his real loyalties were, and my mother didn't. She came to get me today, to save me today, even though it almost killed her. And you didn't, Ginny. You and they are the only strong people I know. Potter? Potter's not strong. Potter still hates me, even though I'm on his rutting side. Same for your brother and that infernal Granger. And me? I'm not strong, because I still hate them. None of us are strong enough to get over ridiculous childhood hatreds, silly school loyalties. But you? You have not given up on me, Ginny Weasley."

"How do you know?" she wanted to know, voice catching in her throat.

"Because you told me, the day you healed my leg, that you thought I was heroic enough for coming over to the Order. It didn't matter that I was only afraid of the dark, in the end of it all. You understood everything I had lost. Potter, the rutting hero of the wizarding world, will never understand, nor will I ever understand what he's lost to become said rutting hero. And you told me—gods, I still remember, this was at least a year ago—you told me I had every right to be afraid of the dark. You saw where I was coming from because you're afraid of the dark too! You're afraid of Tom."

"Thank you for reminding me—" she began, but Draco cut her off.

"No. Instead of ignoring me and focusing only on your own pain or fear or whatever, you went back to your pain, you made sure you understood, so you could hold me up. And you think you're weak? Tom has an advantage. He's inside your head and I can't deck him. But I will not let him conquer you."

Draco paused for breath, and the two of them merely looked into each other's eyes for a long moment. Then Draco continued quietly, "I can't let him conquer you. You're the only one who's strong enough to not let me fall."

He watched as her lower lip began to quiver again. She choked back a sob and suddenly she was leaning tightly against him, clutching his shirt in her fists and sobbing against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her and held her there tightly, burying his face in her long, flaming hair. It wasn't even an hour ago she'd held him like this out on the battlefield.

"I won't let him conquer you," Draco whispered again. "We're the only ones strong enough for each other."


End file.
